


Well and Truly

by Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:32:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylsdarkplace/pseuds/Syls%20Darkplace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Castiel having taken on his nightmares, Sam has his mind back whole and clear for the first time in years. Now, he wants his brother back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

  


**Warnings:** Spoilers through the end of Season 7, underage sex (15/19), hurt!Dean.

  


 

 

[ ](http://cheebles.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/273/8759)

“I don’t know. I mean, we can’t just leave him,” Sam said as they exited hospital. He never thought he’d leave alive, and here he was walking out beside his brother. Castiel had taken on all his nightmares, and Dean expected him to just abandon Castiel in his place.

“Well, we can’t bring him with us,” Dean said as they walked to the Impala. “Everything on the planet’s out for us, okay? If word gets out, we can’t protect him. Not really. This is safer. Every demon who knows about Cas is dead.”

“Not _every_ one. Look Dean, this whole enemy of my enemy is my friend thing feels a lot like a demon deal,” Sam said, and the roof of the Impala was solid and reassuring under his hands.

“It’s not a deal. It’s …” Dean stopped, searching for the words. Despite their situation and Castiel’s, Sam couldn’t help the feeling warmed by familiarity of talking with his brother over the roof of the Impala.

“It’s what?” he asked.

“Mutually assured destruction. Look man, I get it. She’s not our friend. We don’t even have friends. All our friends are dead.” Dean opened the car door and got in. He was right. When it came down to it, the two of them was all there had ever really been and that’s how it would always be … if they were lucky.

 

 

[ ](http://cheebles.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/273/8993)

So Annie was dead too. They’d lost another friend, well, more than a friend to them all apparently, but Bobby in his way was still with them. Dean was right again. This couldn’t end well. What’s dead should stay dead. Theoretically. Except neither of them could ever let go, could they? Not of each other. He remembered too well Dean’s time in hell and his own desperation and fear – the gaping hole in his chest where his brother used to live. He thought of Dean with Lisa and Ben for that year, and the pain that Dean must have felt when he thought that Sam had been back almost that entire time without letting him know.

Sam couldn’t have done that. He would have known if he’d been himself that Dean would want to know. He couldn’t have stayed away anyway. He would have gone to Dean for himself if nothing else.

Dean pulled the Impala into the lot of a motel well after dusk and about 30 miles outside Bodega Bay. It was a long, low building. White clapboard with yellow doors and a crowd of garishly painted concrete lawn ornaments scattered over the wide expanse of neatly trimmed bluegrass. The headlights of the Impala picked out Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, a rooster the size of a lion, St. Francis holding a plate of bird seed, the Easter Bunny. It was eerie, the stuff of ordinary nightmares.

Dean looked around and opened his mouth on a breath. Sam waited for the smart ass remark, but Dean just shook his head and got out of the car. Sam chuckled. Yeah, people are crazy, but sometimes it’s just harmless crazy.

The room was like a thousand other motel rooms they’d slept in – two queen beds, nightstand, desk phone, TV, dingy carpet – only the details were different – the vase of dusty silk flowers on the dresser, the hand lettered sign in the bathroom that read, “Don’t flush sanitary napkins down toilet.”

Dean tossed his duffle bag on the dresser. He’d gotten out of the habit of putting anything away years ago. Never leave out anything more than a toothbrush and you don’t lose anything important during a quick getaway.

Sam was standing at the small table by the window digging through his own duffle. For the first time in months, the world didn’t seem to be wobbling on its axis. Despite everything else – Bobby a ghost, Cas in an mental hospital, leviathans threatening human existence – Dean’s world was as close to right as it had been in a very long time. Sam was here, and he seemed okay. He couldn’t remember the last time that had been true.

A small smile pulled at Dean’s lips and his eyes stung. He knew those brooding and pensive shoulders.

“What?” he asked.

Sam shrugged and half turned toward him. “Nothing. Just thinking about Cas.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said.

“No,” Sam said. “You don’t know, Dean. You don’t know what it was like to have Lucifer in your head.”

“Okay, Sam,” Dean said with a sigh. “But you know if he hadn’t broken the wall, he wouldn’t have had to make amends that way.” Dean frowned.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said. “He did a lot of the wrong things, but he did them for the right reasons. The path of good intentions – I’ve been there.”

“Yeah, I know you have, Sammy.” Dean ran a hand through his hair and considered leaving it at that. “But tell me something. If he’d done something to me like he did to you, would you be so forgiving?” Sam’s brows drew together, and Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. He was pretty sure he didn’t in fact, and then Sam stepped forward. His fingertips brushed across Dean’s cheek bone.

“No, I wouldn’t.” Sam’s voice sounded raw. “Dean.” He leaned in to where Dean felt his brother’s breath hot against his skin, and Dean was almost caught in Sam’s gravitational pull. He jerked his head back as reality set in.

“Sam, what the hell?” He looked wildly around the room with his heart racing.

Sam’s lips quirked. “You left the flask in the trunk. Bobby isn’t here.”

“Yeah, still … You just got out of mental hospital. Your melon may be in one piece but …” He sounded out of breath even to his own ears.

“I’m okay,” Sam said quiet and even as though he was calming a frightened animal. “I mean ... there was a time you know, back before Lucifer, before the wall came down or the cage or the demon blood, before your time in Hell or my death or dad’s or Jess’s, before Stanford.” He dragged his fingers down Dean’s jawline. “It’s weird how we knew things other kids didn’t know, things they thought were only in horror movies, and we were already killers. But looking back, we were innocent too. We were ...”

“Sam, don’t. Please, that’s in the past.”

“No, Dean, you were everything to me, and ...”

Dean jerked his face away from Sam’s hand. “And you ran away. You ran away from me in Flagstaff and then to Stanford because I, I, you trusted me and I fucked that up.”

“No, no,” Sam said. His hands reached for him again, framing Dean’s face from chin to the tips of his ears. “Look at me, Dean.”

No, Dean didn’t want to. He didn’t want to see the lie or the truth, whatever it was, but Sam wasn’t letting go. Dean’s ears buzzed from the pressure of his hands. Sam’s eyes were stormy and that little knot of wrinkles curled on his forehead that Dean always wanted to take a thumb and rub away.

“I ran away because the guilt of it was eating you up. You wouldn’t say no to me, and I couldn’t stop asking. I’m asking you now. I’m asking you to let go of the guilt. I’m an adult now.”

His hands relaxed enough for Dean to shake his head. “That doesn’t change what it is, Sam. It’s still ...” He couldn’t even say it.

“What? Illegal? Immoral? When have we ever let the law stop us from doing anything?”

“Yeah, well, there’s that immoral thing. We’re still brothers, you know?”

“Yeah, immoral hasn’t stopped us from lying, cheating, stealing, killing ...”

“Sam.” Dean pushed Sam’s arms down and stepped back. “Those things were necessary. Part of our job. We did those things to save lives, to save the damn world. This, this thing – it’s different.”

“Yeah, yeah, it is different, Dean. This is for us, and if it harms anyone, it only harms us.” Sam was right there again in Dean’s space stealing all the air and wrapping Dean in his radiating warmth. “We deserve this. We’ve given everything, our lives, our souls, our sanity, and we deserve something, this, we deserve this.”

His feverish hands heated Dean’s cheeks and neck, and his lips were soft and hard and demanding. Dean’s hands clutched Sam’s shirt as he was backed against the wall. Sam’s thumb pushed against the hinge of Dean’s jaw in silent instruction and he licked across Dean’s bottom lip, but it was Sam’s thigh pressed against his cock that made Dean gasp and let him in.

This was so different from the first time in a single bed with a broken down mattress in an unheated rental house in Jefferson City, Missouri.

 

 

[ ](http://cheebles.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/273/9264)

They’d been young and full of themselves and reckless. John had been gone for two days and likely wouldn’t be back for a week when they’d learned of truckers and travelers disappearing from a rest stop on I-70.

Sam had been practically bouncing in the passenger seat of the Impala as Dean drove up Route 54. It made Dean want to smile, but he turned a serious eye on his little brother.

“Hey, settle down,” he said. “This is serious.” The fact was he was excited too, but he was trying to act the adult. He remembered his first few hunts with his dad. He’d been just like Sammy – eager and excited. This wasn’t Sam’s first hunt. He’d accompanied John and Dean on a few, but John had kept him out of the fight.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Listen to me,” Dean said, trying to channel his dad. “We are not hunting here. We’re investigating. It’s probably just some crazy.”

Sam’s head tipped at that funny angle that told Dean he was rolling his eyes. “Yeah, but every disappearance happened on the night of the full moon.”

“Yeah, I know that, Einstein, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t just some human with a werewolf fantasy. My point is we’re just trying to figure out which it is, and then we’ll report back to dad if it’s his kind of hunt.”

“But, Dean, people are dying.” Sam half turned in the seat to face his brother.

“I know that, Sammy, but Dad would kill me if I took you into a hunt without even talking to him. I’m not going to do that.”

“Dean ...”

“No, Sam,” he said.

As it turned out, it didn’t matter what Dean wanted. The rest area was nearly deserted. A semi was pulled up in the truck lot with its engine running and a Ford Taurus sat in the car lot. Dean hadn’t so much as shut off the Impala and swung his door open when they heard a woman’s shriek. It hadn’t come from the building but from near a small shelter that held snack machines. Without a word both boys had run toward the sound. There was no one in the space which was brightly illuminated by Coke and Pepsi machines, and they circled around it to find nothing but scuff marks in the meager grass.

“Dean!” Sam shook his arm and pointed where the grassy area met woods. Both boys ran toward underbrush.

What happened next was so fast that Dean only remembered the pain, but Sam remembered it like it happened in slow motion – the hand that hit his chest like a cannonball and landing on his back, sitting up to see a huge, snarling beast with coarse fur taking his brother to the ground. Their struggle was backlit in the parking lot lights, and Sam was frozen for a moment. It was real. This was real – a werewolf snarling and clawing. He could hear its jaws snapping at air as it tried to sink its teeth into Dean. Sam was jolted into movement by Dean’s scream. The monster roared as Dean sunk his silver blade into its shoulder, but Sam knew that wasn’t good enough. He went to his knees beside the struggling pair and wrenched the blade free. As he rose to his feet, he raised the knife above his head in both hands and brought it down precisely where he’d been trained to aim for the heart of man or monster.

With another roar, it pushed itself away from Dean and rose. Its arms went up as though it could reach back and pull the blade free. He swayed and struggle before crashing to the ground. Sam stared at the motionless form, breath heaving in and out of his chest. His throat burned with the force of it.

“Sammy,” Dean gasped.

Sam dropped to his knees beside his brother. “Dean, oh God, I’m sorry.”

“Can’t see.”

“You’ve got blood in your eyes,” Sam said. He hoped that was all of the truth. There were claw marks across Dean’s forehead and cheek. His shirt was torn and bloody where the claws had dug into his chest, searching for his heart.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said as he struggled to sit up. “We gotta help that woman.” Sam pulled Dean to his feet and got an arm around his waist.

“Hey!” A man was running toward them from direction of the semi.

Sam swung his brother around with his back to the man. “This guy attacked a woman,” Sam yelled and pointed to the form on the ground. “She’s in the woods! Call the cops!” The man slowed to a jog and pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

“We gotta get out of here, Sam,” Dean mumbled.

“Yeah,” Sam said.

Dean threw an arm over Sam’s shoulders but didn’t lean on him too much. It was more for guidance then than support. Sam supposed that was a good thing. He just wanted to hold on to Dean. Still, they stumbled across the grass to where the Impala was parked.

“You drive,” Dean said.

“What?!” Sam’s voice was almost a squeak that under normal circumstances Dean would have ribbed him all day about. He wasn’t old enough for a license.

“You know how. Keys are in my right pocket.” Dean leaned against the fender of the car.

Sam did know how. Dean had taken him out on back roads in the summer afternoons and let him drive. It wasn’t all that hard, but this was different. Well, this was necessity. He shoved his hand into the pocket of his brother’s jeans. Dean’s thigh was hot against the back of his hand through the thin cotton, and his fingers closed around the keys.

“Okay, got ‘em,” he said as he pulled his hand free. “Come on, get in.” He helped Dean into the car and slammed the door. When he slid into the driver’s seat, Dean was trying to wipe his eyes with the tail of his shirt.

“Leave it alone,” Sam said. “You’ll just make it worse.” His hands shook as he tried to get the key in the ignition

“Shut up and drive, Sammy.” 

“Need to move the seat up,” he said as reached down between his legs and pushed the seat mechanism in.

“Yeah,” Dean said. They both used their feet to slide the bench seat forward a little. “Good?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He put the car into reverse and gave it a little gas with a turn of the wheel. The big Chevy swung out of the parking spot, but he hit the brakes a little too hard, which brought the car to stop with a jerk.

Dean reached over and blindly grasped at his arm. “Take a deep breath. I’m not dying over here. Just need cleaned up.”

“I’m okay,” Sam lied.

“Yeah, I know. Just no hurry, okay? Stay calm and drive just over the speed limit. Just a little. Normal like.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said. He put the car in forward and accelerated up the ramp and onto the interstate. This was a first, driving on the interstate, but it was night and there was little traffic. He took a deep breath and tried to relax as he pushed the car past the speed limit, but tensed as two state police cars with their blue lights on passed in the eastbound lanes. He got to the next interchange and took the two lane blacktop back toward Route 54.

Sam knew that his brother was bleeding and he didn’t know how badly. Dean didn’t make a sound, which was bad. He could be bleeding out or concussed, and Sam wouldn’t even know. He could die right there beside him.

“Sam, slow down,” Dean growled.

Sam looked down and found that he was doing 68 mph on a 55 mph road. He eased off the accelerator. “Sorry, I ...”

Dean grasped his shoulder and rubbed. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re not. You’re ...” Sam’s throat closed around the words.

“I am, Sammy. Just don’t wrap the Impala around a tree and I’ll be fine.”

Clouds had obscured the full moon and the country road was black as pitch, but Sam knew he was on the right road to the crappy little rental house. He was sure of it, but it seemed to be taking too long to get there and the underbrush along the road was tall, the driveway hard to see.

“Hold on,” he said and hit the brakes when he saw the gap in the tall weeds. He heard Dean hiss in a breath, and Sam turned the car onto the gravel. He eased the vehicle up the rutted track trying to steer around the deepest holes. He stopped beside the back porch and put the car in park. He jumped out and ran to the passenger side of the car where Dean had already pushed the door open and was standing. A mercury vapor light on a high pole threw pallid light across the area making the blood on Dean’s face and chest look like he’d been painted with tar. It was better to pretend it wasn’t blood, but Sam knew better. He reached for Dean’s arm and got a hand in the middle of his chest for the effort.

“I’m okay,” Dean said and took a couple steps toward the house.

“You’re not,” Sam said. His voice wavered, and for the first time he felt like crying. He blinked his burning eyes. The sound of crickets and tree frogs filled the air, and Sam hoped his brother couldn’t hear his panicked breaths.

Dean half turned and reached out for him. “Okay,” he said as Sam moved toward him. He put his arm over Sam’s shoulders. “Okay, Sammy.”

Sam hooked his arm around Dean’s waist, and they stumbled up the steps together. Sam fumbled the keys in his hand until he found the house key and, slotting it into the lock, let them into the kitchen. Sam flicked on the light switch, leaving a smear of red across it. He didn’t look at his hands, didn’t look at Dean. He just steered him into the bathroom where his brother dropped onto the commode lid as though his legs would no longer hold him. Sam had no choice but to look then.

Three deep gashes ran diagonally across Dean’s forehead, bisected his eyebrow, caught the bridge of his nose, two laid his cheek open. It was hard to tell from all the blood how close they came to his eye, which was matted closed with dark blood. Dean leaned back against the wall with both eyes shut.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” he repeated. Sam knew it was meaningless mantra at this point. Dean was just trying to reassure him and himself.

“Shut up, Dean,” he said. He wet a washcloth with warm water and laid it across Dean’s face. “Just leave that there a minute.”

He got out the first aid kit and dug around for antiseptic, a needle and thread. His hands weren’t shaking now. Sam may not have been on many hunts, but he’d been sewing his dad and brother up for a couple of years. He was good at this. Dean joked that Sam should go to medical school and become a doctor. You’re a natural, he’d said the last time.

Sam helped Dean strip his shirt off to reveal the gashes on his chest. They weren’t as bad as Sam had imagined – not as bad as the ones on his face. He opened the bottle of alcohol and poured some on his brother’s chest.

“Fuck!” Dean yelled. Sam pressed a clean towel against the wounds.

“Hold that there. We need to work on your face first,” Sam said.

“Fuck, Sammy, a little warning next time, huh?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, but his focus was on his task.

Sam got the supplies ready and took the wash cloth off Dean’s face. He rinsed it out and began to gently clean the blood from the wounds and around his eyes. He worked swiftly but gingerly around Dean’s eye, which had barely been spared by the claws that had split his cheek open. He let out a breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Freed of the congealed blood, the lid popped up. The intensely green eye searched his face for a moment. The lashes fluttered and lowered as though Dean had seen something in Sam’s face he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Come on, Sammy. I’m not a little girl. Let’s get this over with.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He pressed gauze over Dean’s eye to keep the antiseptic out as he cleaned the gashes. “Okay, ready?” he asked as he picked up the needle.

“Yeah, I already said.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam took a deep breath and started to work. He put every bit of concentration into each stitch. This had to be his best work. He didn’t care that John was probably going to kill them both when he got home, Sam just wanted to make sure his brother wasn’t scarred. Dean was the most beautiful person Sam had ever met. Hell, comparing him to any of those actresses in movies, Natalie Portman or Charlize Theron or any of them, Dean was way prettier. Sam knew that Dean hated being called pretty. It was something that guys at every new school they’d ever gone to threw at him like a punch. Few of them did it more than once, but Sam knew it hurt all the same. It left bruises inside that couldn’t be seen. Sam didn’t mean it the same way. It was just an objective observation. Dean was beautiful, and Sam wanted to keep it that way.

Of course, Sam was relieved that Dean’s sight wasn’t damaged. Much as he sometimes resented constantly being under his older brother’s watchful gaze, at that moment, he wanted nothing more.

“Okay,” he said, finishing off the last stitch and tying it off.

Dean opened his eyes and gave Sam a lopsided grin. “Do I look like Frankenstein?”

Sam’s eyes stung and he looked away. “Shut up, Dean,” he said and busied himself with re-threading the needle to sew up the one deep gash on Dean’s chest. He peeled the towel quickly off Dean’s chest.

“Ow, what the fuck, Sammy?”

“Quit being a baby, Dean,” he said.

“Not a baby, you sadistic little shit,” he said.

Sam smiled involuntarily. “Wow, big word. You been reading?”

“Yeah, yeah, it was in Penthouse forum,” Dean chuckled, but his voice was tight.

Sam looked up from where he was cleaning the wounds. Dean was biting his lip and he looked pale. “You aren’t going into shock on me, are you, Dee?”

“No, just ...”

Sam dug around in the first aid kit until he found a brown prescription bottle with the name Nick Mason on it. He wondered where their dad or Bobby had gotten it, but it didn’t matter. He shook a Percocet tablet out and ran water in the chipped coffee mug they kept by the sink.

“Here, open up,” Sam said. Dean didn’t protest, so Sam knew the pain must be pretty bad. “Okay, I’ll make this quick.”

It only took five stitches to close the deep portion of the cut on Dean’s chest. He slapped a bandage over the wounds and washed the rest of the blood from his brother’s skin and his own. He stripped them both to their skivvies and tossed their bloody clothes into the bathtub to deal with in the morning.

“Come on, Dean. Let’s get to bed.” He pulled his older and larger brother to his feet and once again got his arm around his waist. Without the adrenaline pumping through them, Dean’s arm was heavier over his shoulders, and he was less steady on his feet. He faltered under Dean’s weight as the entered the bedroom and slammed his shoulder into the doorframe.

“You ‘kay, Sammy?”

“Yeah, fine.”

They collapsed onto Dean’s bed. There was no way Sam could have disentangled himself from his falling brother to prevent it, and once they were horizontal Dean didn’t let him go. Dean pulled Sam’s head under his chin and ruffled his hair.

They lay unmoving for a moment with Sam listening to his big brother’s heartbeat. Dean turned his head and pressed his face into Sam’s hair. “Took good care of me, squirt,” he mumbled.

Sam couldn’t hold it back. Tears started to flow, and he hitched in a breath. He wrapped himself around Dean, hands slid over the ridges of his ribs and dug into muscle and leg hooked over Dean’s.

“Sammy,” Dean said softly. “Hey.” He tipped Sam’s head back, hands smoothing unruly hair. “Sammy, it’ll be okay. I’ll tell Dad it was my fault. It was. I shouldn’t have taken you there.”

“I don’t give a shit about Dad,” Sam said. “You didn’t see you. I thought ... oh God, I thought it was killing you or turning you. I thought ... I, I need you, Dee.”

~*~

Warm, gentle hands slid over Sam’s face, pulled him in, and soft lips met his. Sam’s lips were wet and salty, and Dean wanted to say something, to make Sam stop talking that way. It hurt too much. It felt like a knife in his heart to hear Sammy say that. His Sammy needing him the way he needed his little brother was too much. Surely, it was just fear and adrenaline.

But Sam pulled himself closer and parted his lips. His tongue slipped out and licked at the seam of Dean’s lips, which opened in surprise. Where the hell had Sammy learned that? He felt Sam’s half smile against his mouth as his tongue pushed farther, slip sliding across Dean’s tongue with a twist. Sam gasped and retreated. Dean’s tongue followed into the sweet wetness of Sam’s mouth.

Sam was on him then, hands grappling at Dean’s shoulders and weight pressing Dean into the sagging mattress. The stitches on his chest pulled and the cuts stung, Dean didn’t care. He couldn’t help wanting to feel more of Sam as his arms slid farther around his little brother, one handing dragging across the jut of shoulder blade and the other cupping his ass. It was round and firm under cotton worn thin and soft.

They both took quick breaths as they changed the angle of their mouths and dove back into the kiss. Dean had kissed a lot of girls, but none had sweeter mouths. None had meant a thing, but this, this was Sammy, the center of the universe. He should stop this, but what was another moment? Sam had to know what he meant to him, and Dean couldn’t say it. He didn’t know how. It was just a kiss ... just a kiss until he felt Sam hard against his hip.

Dean pulled his mouth away and let his head fall back against the pillow. He was breathing like he’d just done sprints. “Sam, no.”

But Sam was pressing wet kisses below Dean’s jaw and his hips were rocking against Dean. “ ‘s okay, De. Please, I need you.”

 _I need you_. Dean had no defense for those words. His fingers slipped up through his brother’s hair. His hips hitched when Sam cupped his hardening cock and rubbed it through his briefs.

“Sammy, Jesus, what ...”

Dean lay there holding his little brother as Sam rubbed himself off with a small cry. Wet seeped through against his skin, and it should feel wrong, gross, but it didn’t. It made Dean’s cock harder, made his balls tight.

“Sam, stop,” Dean murmured, but he didn’t. Sam’s hand slid into Dean’s shorts, skin to skin, and a shudder ran through Dean at the feel of his little brother’s fingers wrapping around his cock. No, it wasn’t as though he’d never thought of Sam this way, but he’d never imagined it could be real. With just a couple tugs, his cock was jerking in the firm, hot grip. Dean couldn’t help but tighten his arms around Sam as his orgasm barreled through him. He felt closer to Sam than he’d ever felt. Still, it wasn’t close enough. He wanted to crawl right inside his skin become part of him surround himself with his scent and taste and heat. As the wave of pleasure subsided, Dean was left sated and sleepy. It was the Percocet, he thought. Sam didn’t pull his hand out of Dean’s shorts. He smeared the hot slick around, held the still hard flesh in his hand and nuzzled Dean’s neck.

“Sam,” he ventured to say.

“Shh, don’t,” Sam whispered. “It’s okay.”

Sam disengaged their arms and legs and rolled off the bed. He wiggled out of his briefs. “Give me your shorts. I’ll get a washcloth,” he said from the darkness.

Dean pulled his underwear off and lobbed them at his little brother. “Eww,” Sam said when he snatched soggy fabric out of the air.

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle but was quickly sobered by the thought of what Sam was eww’ing over. Dean felt faint sizzle of anxiety go up his spine as Sam left the room, but he was too relaxed and drowsy, and his cock didn’t think they were done. When Sam came back, Dean tried to take the washcloth from him, but Sam snatched from his hand.

“I’ve got this,” he said. “I’m the doctor tonight; you’re the patient.”

“Is that what that was – playing doctor?”

There was a pause before Sam answered. “No, that wasn’t playing.”

Dean just wanted to put it behind them, but he knew Sammy better than that. Sam was like a dog with a bone. This wasn’t just going to be forgotten. 

  



	2. Chapter 2

 

  
[ ](http://cheebles.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/273/9570)

  


Five days later, the boys were watching a Miami Vice rerun when they heard the sound of John’s beat up truck. Sam turned the TV off, and they just stared at one another a moment.

“Go to bed, Sammy,” Dean said.

“No, Dean, I …”

“Go to bed, God damn it!” Dean snarled.

Sam drew back like he’d been slapped.

“Sammy, please,” Dean said quietly. “Just, please.”

Sam’s jaw jutted out stubbornly, but he got up and went to the bedroom. Dean reached over and turned off the lamp as the door swung open. John stepped into the room. His heavy footfalls indicated how tired he was.

“Hey, Dad, rough hunt?” Dean asked.

“Rough enough, kiddo,” he answered. His duffle bag hit the floor.

“You want a sandwich?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” John said. As John approached the couch, Dean rose, turning in the opposite direction and heading for the kitchen. Instead of hearing the squeaky springs of the sofa as his father sat, he heard footsteps follow him.

“So how’d things go while I was gone?” John asked. Dean could hear the suspicion in his father’s voice.

Anxiety pooled in his gut. He knew there was no point lying. “Dad, I …” His throat tightened but his hands continued laying out slices of bread.

“Just look me in the eye and tell me what happened, son,” John said.

Dean turned and met his father’s gaze. John’s chin came up when he saw the stitches running across his son’s face, and he drew in a deep breath. “It was you! God damn it, Dean!” he burst out. “Bobby told me that a werewolf might be taking out folks on the interstate, but it stopped before I could get there. You went after a werewolf on your own!” John grabbed his upper arms and shook him hard enough his head banged the cabinet behind him. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“It wasn’t like that!” he said, but he knew that his father wasn’t really listening, and he wished he’d just hit him and get it over with. He’d been a fool. He could have gotten himself or Sam killed. That was bad enough. If his father knew what had happened later that night in the dark and since, he’d probably kill him.

“Did you have Sammy with you? Did you?” John shouted. Dean felt a spray of spittle hit his face. The smell of whiskey was like a fog.

“Dad,” he pleaded.

John’s eyes went wide and he pushed Dean away. “Sam! Sammy!” he yelled and started toward the bedroom.

“Dad, please,” Dean said. He grabbed John’s arm. “Let him sleep. He’s fine.”

That’s when John’s arm came up fast a snake strike. The backhand snapped Dean’s head to the side, and he stumbled against the counter.

“Stop it!” Sam screamed from the doorway. “Don’t hit him! Don’t you do that!”

“Get to bed, Sam,” John ordered.

“You called me!” Sam yelled. He stood there in nothing but briefs and a t-shirt – all skinny arms and coltish legs. His hands were fisted at his sides.

“Go back to bed, Sammy,” Dean said.

“You go with him,” John said. He took a step back and rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin.

“Dad, let me explain,” Dean pleaded.

“For your own good, go to bed, Dean,” John said. He sounded exhausted.

“Dad.”

“Now!”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and walked out of the kitchen. He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder as he walked by and steered him into the bedroom. He could feel the tension thrumming through Sam’s body. Dean quietly shut the bedroom door.

“Go to bed, Sammy,” he said as he stripped off his clothes in the dark. He heard Sam sigh and was relieved when his little brother didn’t protest. Dean crawled beneath the covers and let tears silently slide down his face. It didn’t look like he’d ever stop being a fuck up. It didn’t matter what he did or how hard he tried, he screwed everything up. He’d never be tough enough or smart enough or good enough.

The covers rustled, then, and the mattress dipped as Sam slid in beside him. Warm seeking hands slid under his t-shirt, across his belly and chest. Dean tried to move away, but the wall was at his back.

“Sam,” he hissed.

“Shh,” Sam murmured. His lips met the corner of Dean’s mouth and pulled back. The tip of his tongue licked away the tears as Dean had kissed Sam’s away just days before.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered. He pressed his lips against Sam’s ear. “We can’t. He’s right there.”

Sam rubbed his cheek against Dean’s. “He’s right there getting drunk,” Sam said.

“Sammy.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam whispered. “Just a kiss then.”

Dean nodded, knowing it was a lie. Neither of them could stop at a kiss, not now, not after almost a week of wet mouths and hard cocks and grasping hands, but this was the end. It had to be.

Dean tugged at Sam’s shorts. Sam lifted his hips enough to slide them down around his thighs, and Dean fisted his cock. It was so hot and hard in his hand, already leaking precome. Dean had to know how it felt and tasted on his tongue. When he licked over the head, Sam’s hips jerked and he gasped. Dean lapped up precome – slippery and salty and mild – like his own but different because this was Sam. He suckled the crown between his lips.

 _“Hey, show us what those lips are good for, Winchester!”_ echoed through his head. Dean had learned early that he was too pretty for a boy. When he was six a store clerk had mistaken him for a girl. John had silently and with rough hands taken him to the nearest barber and had all his curls shorn off. Dean had been as horrified by his father’s disapproval as he had losing his hair. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong, and he’d burst into tears. John had thrown money at the barber, and with little Sammy on his hip, he’d yanked Dean from the barber chair. Dean’s hair had never curled over his collar again, but that hadn’t prevented the leers and filthy suggestions from older men and taunts from classmates at every new school.

Dean had stood up for himself. Of course, he had. He knew how to fight, but he’d never had friends really. He didn’t trust other boys. It wasn’t until high school that he’d discovered that girls liked his pretty face. He could prove himself a man and have feminine companionship. Who needed guy friends anyway? He had Dad and Sammy.

And here he was proving himself to be the cocksucker everyone had said he was … and with his little brother of all people. Dean knew that deep down inside there was something really wrong with him, something twisted and deviant. But when Sam swallowed a moan and squirmed under Dean’s hands, he forgot all of that. In the moment, there was no shame in giving his little brother pleasure. Sammy deserved it. The kid had so little. This was everything that Dean was incapable of saying or giving to him. This was everything that Dean had and was, all that was good of him was for Sam. And damn if he didn’t find Sam hot when he squirmed around like that and swallowed back moans and whimpers.

Sam’s cock grew suddenly hard in his hand, and Dean nearly choked on the flood of come filling his mouth. It was thick and bitter on the back of his tongue, but he swallowed it down as best he could and kept sucking and stroking until Sam was trying to push him off his over-sensitized dick. Dean let it slide from his mouth and chuckled silently.

He lay down beside Sam who rolled toward him. “You want me to …”

“No,” Dean whispered. “No, Sammy.”

Sam’s hand wrapped around Dean’s cock and stroked it. “That was awesome,” Sam whispered. “I will one day. I want to.” Dean started to protest, but Sam’s mouth met his in the darkness. His hand continued to tug at Dean’s dick as his tongue explored Dean’s mouth. “Mm, that’s me in there,” he whispered as he licked his own come from Dean’s mouth, and that was it. Dean grunted as his cock erupted over Sam’s hand and his belly.

They lay there panting a moment. Dean pulled off his t-shirt and mopped up the come from his belly and gave to Sam to wipe his hand on.

“You need to go back to your own bed, Sammy.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam sat up. “It’s going to be okay, Dee.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. Sure it was. Just another time he’d let Dad down.

“Fuck him,” Sam said. “Don’t let him bully you.”

“Hey, have some respect,” Dean hissed.

He heard Sam scoff as he got back into his bed. Dean flopped down on the sagging mattress and stared up at the stained ceiling.

~*~

The house was still quiet when Dean awoke the next morning. He swore the smell of sex still hung in the room. Sam slept on his back with the pillow pulled over his eyes. Dean got up and went in to take a shower. He stuffed his stiffened underwear and t-shirt deep into the hamper and vowed to do laundry himself later.

By the time he was showered and dressed, the smell of coffee was drifting through the small house. He heard the coffee maker burble the last of the brew into the pot, but John wasn’t in the kitchen. Peeking out the window, Dean saw him sitting on the top porch step. Dean mustered his courage, poured two cups black and eased out through the storm door.

John half turned at the sound of the squeaky door hinge but faced forward again as Dean approached. “Coffee?” Dean asked. John put his hand up, and Dean put a mug in it.

“Sit down,” John said. Dean sat beside him and looked out over the misty fields. There wasn’t a movement or sound for miles. Then, somewhere out on the road a car passed.

“So explain,” John said.

“I screwed up,” Dean said. “It wasn’t supposed to be a hunt. I’d never take Sam on a hunt without you. I … we were just going to investigate, see if it was a crazy human or something real. I was wrong. It was a stupid thing to do.”

John nodded. “What happened?”

“We heard this woman scream the minute we got out of the car, and we, well, we had to help, right? It had dragged her into the woods, and when we approached it attacked me. Took me right down. I got the silver knife in its shoulder, but it …” His hand went up toward his face. “My eyes were full of blood, but Dad, Sammy got the knife and he killed it. Put the blade right in its heart.”

“He did, huh?” John looked at Dean for the first time, and a smile pulled slightly at the corners of his mouth. He nodded. “Well, at least you had the brains to take a silver knife with you on this non-hunt.” He took a sip of coffee. “And I guess, Sammy’s learning more than he lets on during training.”

“Sammy’s a smart kid, Dad.” Dean sat with knees splayed and stared down into the cup cradled in his hands.

“Yeah,” John said. He took a sip of coffee and looked out over the field. “You’re grounded for the week. You do all the laundry and cleaning. I want you running five miles a day.”

“Yes, sir.” He didn’t look up.

“You’re a man now, Dean. You gotta quit acting like a kid,” John said.

He was right, of course. Sam was a kid, thought like a kid, and Dean had to quit giving in to him all the time. He had to be tougher and do what was right even if it made Sam mad or disappointed. It didn’t matter that he’d lost his virginity a year younger than Sam was or that he’d had sex with a number of girls since then. This was different. He had to do what was in Sammy’s best interest.

That wasn’t so hard when John was around as a silent reminder of what right was, but as the summer wore on and John went off on hunts, Dean found himself giving in to Sam in the sultry darkness. _I need you, Dee_ was like a bell for Pavlov’s dogs. The words made his heart race as it pushed his blood south. He needed too. He needed Sam like a hunter needed salt or iron. Hell, like the Impala needed oil.

Every morning that he awoke with the smell of Sam on his skin, he swore it would be the last, and every night that Sam crawled into his bed, he let it happen. He secretly welcomed it. He didn’t understand why Sam never seemed conflicted – Sam who was awkward with girls, ever the young gentleman, would beg like a whore for his big brother.

The first night Dean surrendered and Sam licked over his cock, it was with a moan like he’d discovered something better than double chocolate ice cream. Dean was just thankful his dad was far away, because the sounds that came from his throat as he twisted his fingers in his little brother’s hair were primal and wanton. When he’d come, so had Sammy, leaving a wet puddle on Dean’s sheets that had reminded him all night of how sick and depraved he was. This was his fault. Sam was just a kid. He had to put a stop to it.

He had in Flagstaff. For the first time, they’d had separate rooms, and Dean locked his door. Sam had been hurt and sulked for days. Then, he’d become surly and accused Dean of only caring about their dad’s orders.

“We’re not hurting anybody, Dean,” Sam had whined.

“We are, Sammy,” he’d said. “This is wrong. It’s … Someday, you’ll regret it, and you’ll hate me for letting it happen.”

“No, Dee, I won’t,” Sam pleaded with those stupid puppy eyes. “I won’t because I want it too. You aren’t talking me into anything. You and me, we’re a team, right?”

Dean had relented. He’d gone to Sam’s bed. Dean had swallowed down Sam’s come with two fingers in his little brother’s ass.

“I wish that were your cock,” Sam said breathlessly as he lay boneless on the bed.

And that was it, Dean vowed, the last time. He wouldn’t let it get that far.

Sam ran away a week later.

~*~

 “What is that?” Sam demanded. Dean had found him and brought him home. Sam had barely spoken to him since.

Dean didn’t know whether to yank his t-shirt back down from where it covered his face or finish pulling it off. He froze for a moment wishing he’d locked the bedroom door but continued the upward movement of his arms knowing that it was too late. Sam wasn’t going to let this go.

Dean dropped the shirt on the floor. Sam was staring wide eyed at the bruise that cut across Dean’s ribs where he’d fallen across the kitchen counter. They traveled up to the finger marks on his upper arm and then on his jaw where John had grasped it and told him if he didn’t find his little brother, don’t come back.

“Don’t tell me that’s from a hunt,” Sam said.

“Sammy …”

“Dad did that.” His voice was tight and broke on the last word. “It’s my fault.”

“No!” Dean stepped forward involuntarily, held a hand out. “No.”

“Don’t lie!” he shouted. “It’s my fault for running away!”

“No, it’s my fault for letting you run away. It’s my job to watch out for you,” Dean said.

“That’s bullshit! I’m not a little kid. You can’t watch me every minute. He … Jesus, look what he did to you.” Sam’s eyes were back on Dean’s ribs. He knew what Sam saw – the deep purple bruise fading to yellow and green at the edges. He’d never admit to Sam that he thought a rib was cracked. He’d never speak of the pain when he breathed too deeply or moved wrong.

Dean took another step forward and said _Sammy_ just to get his brother to stop looking there. “Hey, I’m fine. He was worried about you. That’s all.”

Sam looked him in the eye then with devastated tearful expression that made Dean’s heart hurt more than broken ribs ever could. “Don’t defend him, Dee. He hurt you because of me.”

Dean didn’t do it, he was sure. He didn’t reach out and pull his little brother against his bare chest, but suddenly he had his arms full of Sammy. His skin was wet with Sam’s tears. His fingers carded through silky hair as Sam sobbed in a breath. He pressed his face into the curve of Dean’s neck and snuffled.

“It’s my fault,” Sam mumbled.

“Sam,” Dean said. “Sammy. It doesn’t matter, okay? You’re back, and I’m okay.” He pushed Sam away and held him by the shoulders at arm’s length. “We’re a team, right?”

Sam nodded, but didn’t look up. His cheeks were flushed and shiny with tears.

“Okay then, team’s got to stick together, man.” Dean’s hands dropped to his side. “No more running off on your own?”

Sam shook his head and looked up from under shaggy hair. “No, no more running away,” he said.

Maybe he’d meant it then. Dean had believed it, and it made it all the harder when Sam went off to Stanford. The intervening time had been a series of battles and hard won truces. By day, Sam sulked and whined and slammed doors, Dean cajoled and ordered and punched walls.

But the nights were filled with want, sometimes with the sound of wet skin on skin, hitched breaths and bitten back moans from Sam’s bed. Dean would lie in his own bed hard, aching. Resentment vibrated from one to the other and back in the darkness. Dean never relented unless the mattress dipped under Sam’s weight and hands hot as brands sought him out, and then he could do nothing but respond. Wound so tight already, so far gone with need, he’d pull Sam to him, mouths crashing together, hands grasping, bodies arching and slotting together heated urgency.

It was in an old single-wide in Bethel, Ohio just months before Sam left for Stanford that the line was crossed that Dean had long ago drawn in the sand. It’s not like they hadn’t come close with slide of Dean’s cock along the crease of Sam’s ass, come spilling across the small of his back, fingers pushing deep, but Dean never let it go further.

John had left hours earlier, and they’d kicked around the house watching TV and eating pizza. They hadn’t touched in weeks when Sam reached across the sofa and ran his hand along Dean’s arm. In what seemed the blink of an eye, they were on their feet shucking off their clothes, and there was a strange stillness in the room when Sam put his hand out to touch Dean’s shoulder. Dean retreated, fell back on the sofa, and Sam followed him down. Tension filled the space between them, buzzed along their skin like electricity before a coming storm, and when they touched, it crackled along nerves, pulling muscles taut, fingers digging into flesh, bruisingly reassuring they wrote their names in fingerprints on arms and hips and ribs.

Sam had been on top when he sank down on his brother’s cock, engulfing him in heat that made Dean arch of the couch even as he groaned a defeated _no!_ He’d never felt so right. This here with Sam was the closest he’d ever be to sharing one skin, living inside Sammy, being one. It felt like a memory, like a place he’d come home to.

His hips came up off the cushion, driving him deep as he spilled inside his brother. He shook and moaned as Sam continued to ride him, clutching and pulling at Dean’s hair. Dean felt overwhelmed with pleasure and love that was better than being drunk, better than getting high with Melanie Bivens on her dad’s stash. This was a connection so deep he felt like he’d touched his own soul. Maybe, he had.

Sam’s muscles clenched around Dean’s cock and he flinched at the grip on his dick as slick spurted onto his belly and Sam went rigid, rocking against Dean before going limp on top of him.

And they were silent. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like a recrimination or worse a promise that couldn’t be kept. Better to stay quiet and steep in the bliss and lingering buzz of pleasure. He ran his fingers through Sam’s hair and pressed his lips to his temple. Sam sighed. It was time.

“This is it, Sammy,” Dean whispered. “Never again.”

Dean knew then as Sam peeled himself away and stood that he was losing his little brother. He was alone. That would never change.

Then, he thought it had. He thought he’d gotten Sam back after Stanford, after he’d made the deal for his soul, after Sam was pulled from the cage, but he hadn’t. There was always some part of Sam that hadn’t been his or hadn’t been Sam.

[ ](http://cheebles.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/273/9838)

But here in a motel room just outside Bodega Bay, California, he could have Sam back. It’s what Sam was offering, what Sam wanted – not Sam amped up on demon blood or Sam without a soul or Sam with Lucifer stuck in his head. His Sam.

As Sam licked across his tongue, he couldn’t believe that his little brother’s mouth was still sweeter than any girl’s. The boy he’d held in his arms was now a man – tall and powerful and just a little overwhelming in his ardor. Dean shouldn’t feel so defenseless against Sam’s tenderly insistent hand that was pulling at his shirt even as the other cupped the back of his head.

They broke the kiss and Dean’s head thumped back against the wall. His lips were wet with his brother’s spit. Sam’s teeth scraped across his jawline.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Dee,” Sam murmured against his ear.

The use of that nickname after all these years, slid right through the last chink is Dean’s armor and straight into his heart. This was his Sammy. Dean pushed himself away from the wall and dragged his plaid flannel off. Sam backed away with a grin and pulled his shirt over his head. Fuck, Sam was beautiful, all that golden skin and lean muscle. Dean pressed his hand over the tattoo on his brother’s chest, the one that mirrored his own. Sam laid his hand on top of Dean’s.

“It’s always been just us,” Sam said. He hooked the other hand around the back of Dean’s neck and pulled him forward. “Always been you.”

Dean wanted to protest, but he realized with a sick twist in his gut that Jess was a rebound. Sam loved her the way a wounded man loves a nurse. She hadn’t loved Sam. She didn’t even know Sam. She couldn’t, unlike Lisa who in the end saw through Dean and the unhealthy tangled up thing he had with his brother. She had loved him and been willing to look the other way until Sam came back. She’d known that no matter how he tried, he could never put anyone before Sam.

So maybe it was time to give in. The best of everything he was was because of Sam, and maybe it was the same for Sammy.

Dean tipped his head back and, eyes wide open, offered his brother his mouth. Sam smiled before kissing him. His tongue pushed deep and demanding as though taking up residence. Dean moaned and sucked it deeper still. Sam’s fingers dug into his ribs, and Dean’s thigh pushed between Sam’s legs and up against his thickening cock. The feel of it tumbled Dean back more than a decade. They’re both young and reckless and full of need for one another.

But that hadn’t changed. Not a bit. And they pushed and pulled at one another. Boots were kicked off and jeans stomped under foot. Sam practically growled when he saw that Dean was going commando, and Dean tore Sam’s boxers in his haste to get them off. Then they were on the bed in a raunchy parody of a teen sparring match, both fighting for control and surrender until they were skin to skin, lip to lip, breathing each other’s air, slick with sweat and precome and spit.

Sam’s weight was pressing him into the sagging motel bed, and Dean arched up against him. “Roll over,” Dean said.

Sam rolled to his back, and Dean admired the long line of Sam’s body, the flat of his belly, the cut of his hips, and a cock that had grown proportionally to all that man. Dean’s dick twitched.

“Down, boy,” Dean said.

“Are you talking to your dick?” Sam asked with a smirk.

“I ain’t talking to yours,” he said.

Sam’s laugh was cut off when Dean fisted Sam’s cock and licked over the head. The bead of precome was just as Dean remembered. The crown so soft against his lips, his cock drooled in response. Dean worked the shaft with his hand as he suckled the head.

Sam bent to the side and his fingers slid along the crease of his brother’s ass. He rubbed a fingertip over Dean’s hole. Dean moaned around Sam’s cock and pushed his ass back against Sam’s finger. It retreated a moment and returned wet and pushed into him. Dean tried to open himself farther as Sam pressed deeper. Dean increased his pace on Sam’s cock as his hips moved in time.

“Are you fucking yourself on my finger?” Sam asked. “Fuck.”

 _Mm_ , was all Dean could manage around the thick flesh filling his mouth. Sam’s cock was sloppy wet in his hand and he needed more than a finger in his ass. He pulled his mouth off Sam’s dick.

“Fuck me,” he growled. Sam’s breath hitched in his throat.

“God, Dee,” Sam groaned.

“Come on, Sammy. Need you,” he murmured. He was perfectly aware that he was using Sam’s words against him. The finger pulled abruptly from his ass.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “We need lube.”

“Fuck that,” Dean said as he flopped onto his back. “You’re plenty wet.”

“Dean …”

“Come on Sam. I’m not a little girl,” Dean said as he elevated his spread knees.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Um, don’t use that analogy, okay?”

“Whatever. Let’s go,” Dean said.

Sam knelt between Dean’s legs and pushed his knees under Dean’s hips. “Bossy.”

“I am what I am, Sammy.”

Sam stopped then, flushed and panting. His gaze traveled up Dean’s body, met Dean’s eyes with a look of pain or love or reverence. Dean felt like the floor had gone out from under him. Maybe Sam was having second thoughts.

“You, you okay, Sammy?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, absolutely.”

Sam looked down then. “This is going to hurt.” He looked Dean in the eye.

“I know. It’s okay.”

Sam nodded and pushed into him. Dean’s jaw tightened against the ache and burn of it, but he didn’t make a sound until Sam was balls deep in him. Dean took a deep breath then letting the sting and stretch subside. Sam was leaning over him, stroking his hair. He caught Dean’s mouth in a brief, sloppy kiss.

“Now?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, fuck me hard, Sammy,” he said.

Sam grabbed Dean’s ankles and pushed them up past his shoulders as he began to move. Within moments, the pain was gone, and he felt so open and full. This was right in all its wrongness. Wasn’t that just typical of them? All the rules were backward. Why had it taken him so long to realize that this one was too?

“Dee?”

He looked up into Sam’s steady gaze. Those hazel eyes that had always looked up to him for reassurance and comfort reflected back the same along with a possessive heat that set fire to Dean’s flesh. He smiled through a gasp as Sam changed angles and hit his prostate. His cock spurted precome between them, and Dean pushed his head back into the pillows. He’d occasionally wondered what this would be like. He’d fucked a few women in the ass, but Sam was the only guy, just that one time. He could never do this with any other guy. The memories were too strong of the leers and jeers of adolescence, and a hunter couldn’t be that vulnerable. But this was Sammy.

“Jesus fuck, Dee, you’re so tight, hot,” Sam groaned. Leave it to Sam to not be able to keep his mouth shut. All his babbling wasn’t slowing Sam down any though. He was riding Dean like he was thoroughbred in the Kentucky Derby. “Beautiful, my God, you’re beautiful. All I ever wanted.”

Dean’s felt himself pushed to the edge. It had to be Sam’s huge cock slamming into his prostate because it couldn’t be his words that had Dean hanging there like a cracked piñata about to spill its guts.

“Never thought I’d get this with you,” Sam panted out. “Everything with you.”

“Yeah,” he gasped. Everything. Sam was in him, filling, possessing, and all around him, hands searing his skin, weight pressing him into the mattress, warm, rich scent surrounding him, sweet saltiness on his tongue. His orgasm took him by surprise because there’s no hand on his dick, but suddenly his balls drew up and his hips rose off the bed as hot come spurted across his belly and chest. He arched off the bed as his muscles clamped down on Sam’s cock. Waves of pleasure washed over him, and he shook and moaned.

Sam grunted and bent low over Dean as his own climax hit. He pressed deep and rocked. Dean smirked, but Sam didn’t see. His eyes were screwed shut. Dean fell back limply on the mattress and watched his brother’s face as the tension smoothed away. Sam opened his eyes and smiled like a kid. It had been too long since Dean had seen that smile. Sam looked down at Dean’s come splattered body and raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, shut up,” Dean said. He ought to be embarrassed that he’d just come on Sam’s cock alone, but then his brother had a pretty impressive cock, so …

Sam chuckled. “You look hot like that.”

Dean felt heat rise in his cheeks. “I told you to shut up. Never were good at taking orders.”

“No, never was.” Sam eased Dean’s legs off his shoulders and leaned down and kissed him. “Wish we could stay here in bed for about a week.”

“Yeah, me too.” He pushed Sam’s hair back behind his ears. Stupid shaggy hair.

“Maybe we should leave Bobby in the trunk every night,” Sam suggested.

“You mean the flask,” Dean said. “Yeah, I don’t think that would go over well.”

Sam settled farther on his chest, smearing slick between them.

“Dean.”

He ran his fingers up through Sam’s hair. “Yeah, me too.”

[ ](http://cheebles.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/273/10232)

Sam looks around the lab, but he’s alone with Kevin. All that’s left as evidence of Dick Roman and Dean and Cas is black leviathan ooze splattered on the walls and floor. Then, Crowley appears.

“What the hell?” Sam says.

“Not to worry,” the King of Hell replies. “I have a small army of demons outside. Cut off the head and the body will flounder after all. Think if you’d had just one king since the first sunrise. You’d be in a kerfuffle too.

“Which is exactly what you wanted,” Sam says. He can feel Kevin cringing behind him.

“So did you,” Crowley says with smug self-satisfaction. “Without a master plan, the levis are just another monster. Hard to stomp, sure, but you love a challenge. Your job is to keep them from organizing.”

“Where’s Dean?” Sam asks. He feels a trickle of panic run down his spine.

“Our bone has a bit of a kick.” Crowley smirks. “God weapons often do. Should put a warning on the box.”

“Where are they, Crowley?!” Sam demands.

“Can’t help you, Sam.” Crowley’s gaze falls behind Sam then. “Sorry, Sam, prophet’s mine.”

Sam turns only to see two demons grab Kevin and then disappear with the prophet.

No, Sam thinks, no, no, no. Kevin may have the answer to getting Dean back.

“You got what you wanted. Dick’s dead, save the world. So I want one little prophet,” Crowley says like a greasy used car salesman. “Sorry, Moose, wish I could help. You certainly got a lot on your plate right now. Looks like you are well and truly on your own.”

And then he’s gone.

Sam turns, scanning the gore splattered room.

~*~

Dean feels as though he’s underwater. There’s something oppressive, dank, inky pressing in on him.

“Wake up,” a voice says.

He opens his eyes and sees the skeletal branches of blighted trees and then Castiel’s worried blue eyes. Dean pushes himself to his feet. There’s an unnatural darkness to this forest, darker than night, but with a strange glow like that of a horror movie.

“Good, we need to get out of here,” Cas says.

“Where are we?” He looks around and they’re alone. Sam must be back at the lab … alone with the rest of the leviathan. He needs to get back there.

“You don’t know?”

“Last I remember we ganked Dick.”

“And where would he go in death?”

“Wait, are you telling me …” Dean says in disbelief.

“Every soul here is a monster. This is where they come to prey on each other for all eternity,” Cas says in a voice that’s way too calm.

“We’re in purgatory? How do we get out?”

“I’m afraid we’re much more likely to be ripped to shreds.”

Dean hears movement and growling. He looks off into the darkness and sees red eyes and indistinct shapes crouching in the trees. “Cas, I think we better …” Dean turns, and no one’s there.

“Cas?”

He’s alone.

[ ](http://cheebles.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/273/10312)


End file.
